


Tie It Down

by Delphi



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Celibacy, Cock Rings, Drama, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Control is what separates man from animal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tie It Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 round of Kink Bingo. Kink: "Chastity Devices"

Control is what separates man from animal. The streets of New York are full of fornicating dogs that walk on two legs, slavering in the vice clubs and rutting shamelessly in open alleyways with the rest of the trash. They're led around by their noses and their dicks, frothing at the mouth and ready to tear something apart on a dark and humid summer night.

Walter has control. Daniel often tells him he's gone too far, yanking him off a twitching, groaning animal, his knuckles swollen and his mouth full of the taste of copper, but Daniel is wrong. Walter always goes just far enough.

"Rorschach—for fuck's sake, he's down!"

Daniel grabs him from behind, arms locking around his chest. The profanity is unexpected. Daniel's mouth is usually pristine—stammering as Dan Dreiberg or shaping heroic radio play pronouncements as Nite Owl—and the sudden filth of it is like a punch to the gut. His hips wrench of their own accord, his stomach clenching and his face blushing so hot that blood pounds in his ears.

He thrashes, but Daniel holds him firmly, strong and immovable and seemingly untouched by the wretched heat. "'For _fuck's_ sake,' Nite Owl?" Walter rasps. "'For _fuck's_ sake?'"

Daniel steps back, and Walter breaks the hold, kicking the thing on the ground before stalking off down the dark, twisting back ways. There's a throbbing deep in his gut, burning and urgent, and when he has put enough distance between himself and Daniel, he braces a hand against the wet bricks with a snarl and shoves his hand into his pants.

The cool touch of his glove—as cool as Daniel's skin—brushes against swollen flesh, and for a quavering instant, he almost tears the knot loose. Then he clenches his teeth and tightens it instead, winding it tighter and tighter until a bolt of welcome agony shoots through him and he sees stars. He breathes out long and slow.

  


* * *

Even after two years behind the mask, there are times when Dan is nearly pissing himself. Having to drag an unconscious, bleeding Rorschach back to Archie over winter ice at three o'clock in the morning is one of those times. Splotches of blood drip into the snow behind them, leaving a path for any sufficiently curious criminal or cop to follow, but Dan doesn't dare go for the pilot's seat in case Rorschach ends up bleeding out on the floor in the time it takes to get them somewhere more discreet.

Rorschach is frighteningly still and silent as Dan grabs the first aid kit. It was bad luck, bad numbers. A slash to the leg and a bat to the head. The question immediately presents itself: leg or head? Or more specifically, pants or mask? Either way, Rorschach might just kill him, but he's more certain to kill him if he takes him to a hospital.

He touches the mask. It's unnervingly warm, the ink swirling around his fingertips, but there doesn't seem to be any blood leaking through or pooling underneath. Pants it is. He fumbles with suspenders and buttons, yanking everything down hurriedly enough that he expects a groan and worries when it doesn't come. The cut isn't quite as bad as he feared. It's going to need stitches, but bandages will hold it for now. He cleans the wound and wraps it up tight, and to his relief, Rorschach makes a faint sound and twitches, out of it but at least responsive.

Then, when the blood flow is staunched and his own adrenaline starts to ebb, he can't help it. He looks.

 _Redhead_ is his first thought, and he's certain enough that Rorschach isn't going to croak between here and home that he chuckles. It's no shock. He's glimpsed freckles before. What's more of a surprise is that Rorschach is pretty big for such a little guy. Really...red too. Weirdly so. That's when he sees it, the shoelace. The kind you get with running shoes. A worn gray, looped twice and knotted up tightly.

Dan breathes out hard, something clenching in his stomach. "Damn."

It can't be healthy. It has to be uncomfortable. And it's kind of the hottest thing he's ever seen. He swallows tightly, his fingers creeping up from Rorschach's thigh. Even before he makes contact, he knows he can't take it off. Rorschach will know he knows. He doesn't halt his hand, though. He doesn't stop until he's touching warm fabric and skin so unnaturally hot it nearly burns him. His throat clicks dryly.

 _Don't think of pink elephants_ , he thinks a little crazily. He's never in his life thought about Rorschach with a hard-on, but now, seeing him tied down, it's all he can picture, and he knows it's all he'll be able to picture for weeks.

He won't be able to help himself.


End file.
